


(i'm the kind of) trouble you enjoy

by yanak324



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Frank Castle POV, Frank realizes Karen is his happy place, He also loves to cook, Introspection, Moving On, Spoilers For The Defenders, spoilers for Season 1 of The Punisher
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 14:03:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13101714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanak324/pseuds/yanak324
Summary: He wants to blame it on not seeing her for a while, but he can’t. Now that the curtain of rage and bloodshed has lifted a bit, he can see it so clearly. She’s always had this effect on him.Frank, Karen, and the aftermath of his vengeance. Post S1 - The Punisher.





	(i'm the kind of) trouble you enjoy

**Author's Note:**

> I'm new to this fandom, but of course, could not resist Karen and Frank the second I saw them on screen together. They're both such complex characters and clearly their chemistry is off the charts. I'm very curious to explore how Frank moves on after getting revenge for his family and this two-parter is my take on it. Title is taken from a U2 song and I do not own any of the characters...though I wish :) Enjoy and Happy Holidays!

Frank is not a complicated man.

He doesn’t live in shades of gray.

There is black and there is white. 

There is good and there is evil; and even though that’s not all there is, it’s a fundamental principle he lives by, identifies with.

For a little while after his family’s slaughter, it’s the _only_ tenet he lives by. 

And then he meets Karen Page. 

xxx

Everything about her is an anomaly. 

From the Nancy Drew persona that actually diverts attention from her real courage to how she stupidly jumps head first into danger for the sake of doing the right thing. 

This, all the while reprimanding him for his – albeit – unorthodox justice seeking methods. 

Point is, she doesn’t fit into his neat little boxes. She’s not in need of saving – or protection, she would argue – but she’s also not someone he would willingly bring to a gun fight. 

Yet he trusts her implicitly. 

And goes to her for help – even if under the cheap pretense of needing to confirm she didn’t rat him out. 

(As if she ever would)

Her quick agreement to look into it reminds Frank that Karen doesn’t fit into his boxes because she understands him, knows him better than any living soul.

And now that Frank is Pete Castiglione – a free man for what feels like the first time in his adult life, he has not a goddamn clue what to do about it. 

So, Pete does what Frank would do.

He avoids. 

He doesn’t let himself fall into a depression, not this time around. Ain’t no wasting a real second chance on petty bullshit…not when he’s done all he can for his family. 

Now it’s his turn, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Maria, echoes in his ear.

As much as he’d like to block it out, preferably with the sound of a couple semi-automatics and maybe a hand grenade, Frank decides that this time, he’s going to fucking live. 

And that includes subsisting on more than canned food and stale coffee. 

He’s reminded very quickly that it’s not about preventing the world from being shitty – that’ll likely never happen. It’s about finding pockets of tranquility, of peace to make the rest of the time livable…even enjoyable.

Before, he had Maria and the kids for that. They were his proverbial happy place.

Marriage wasn’t easy…fatherhood even less so but it was his challenge, his hard-earned respite from the turmoil inside his head. 

Now he has to find that elsewhere. So, he reads, goes to the gym, and experiments with recipes from cookbooks he finds in second hand book stores. 

He also goes to group. 

There, he sits and listens to others tell their stories and can’t deny that with each passing session, the burden he carries around lessens somehow. 

On nice nights, he takes the long route home, sometimes even stopping a mugging or two from happening. 

On those nights, he comes home and puts on Coltrane. Jazz always helped ease the adrenaline out of his system. 

On the nights he doesn’t get his hands dirty, he comes home and cooks. Sometimes he brews a fresh pot of coffee and spends the night either reading or discovering the joys of subscription television. 

And he doesn’t think about Karen at all.

Not at all.

xxx 

In all his haste to avoid her, Frank forgets how tenacious Karen can be.

She’s not the type to politely knock on the door, she’s the kind who picks the goddamn lock.

In hindsight, it’s not a surprise that she finds him.

But that day, when Curtis tells him that a pretty blond woman came looking for a guy named Pete, Frank is genuinely caught off guard.

It’s the one Tuesday he misses - he has a rough Monday night taking down a group of gang bangers and spends all of the next day icing his back.

He schools his expression even though he knows he’s been figured out judging by the shit eating grin on his friend’s face.

Maybe that’s why Curtis doesn’t press him any further – because he can tell that Karen is special to Frank. 

Off limits.

Doesn’t stop Curtis from pausing set up to hand him a business card. 

“Left this behind for you. Said you would know what to do with it.”

Frank looks down and laughs for the first time in what feels like forever… 

Printed on the front of the card is an address for a flower shop two blocks from Karen’s new apartment. 

xxx

He spends a week eyeing the business card as it sits pretty on his kitchen counter, until he finally decides to bite the bullet. 

Frank - Pete – may have extinguished most physical reminders of his old life when he torched his house, but he still remembers how to treat a woman with respect.

He also knows how to take a hint.

So instead of taking the familiar track home after group the following Tuesday, he goes to Karen’s apartment. 

On the way, he stops at the flower shop she suggested and buys a far too expensive bouquet of tulips, because a) they’re in season and b) they maybe sort of remind him of her.

Just like roses remind him of Maria. 

He shoves that thought away after a brief moment of reflection. 

Guilt doesn’t deter him from slipping into Karen’s building and taking the three flights of stairs to her floor. 

It also doesn’t help very much when he finds himself in front of her door, suddenly nervous and clutching the overstuffed bouquet like it’s his lifeline. 

He’s so deep in his head, he doesn’t hear the footsteps on the other side of the door until it’s too late. 

The door swings open to reveal Karen’s surprised face. 

The shock quickly morphs into amusement, however, as she gives him a slow onceover and her eyes land on the flowers. 

“And here I thought your friend Curtis wasn’t a man of his word…” 

Her lips curve into a smile – demure but his heartbeat spikes anyway. 

He wants to blame it on not seeing her for a while, but he can’t. Now that the curtain of rage and bloodshed has lifted a bit, he can see it so clearly.

She’s always had this effect on him.

In a split second, Frank also realizes something very troubling.

Karen Page just got the drop on him because he was too busy agonizing over whether to knock on her goddamn door.

“Frank?”

Karen raises her eyebrow and he realizes he’s doing it again...getting too deep in his head and overanalyzing.

Fuck, if anyone from his old unit could see him now.

That thought immediately snaps him back to the present - he’s not here to drudge up bad memories.

“May I come in?”

Karen purses her lips for a moment, now less amused and more concerned, but she steps aside anyway and gestures him in. 

Despite being unable to move from her doorstep just a second ago, Frank steps across the threshold with minimal effort. 

xxx

“Nice place you got here,” he surveys his surroundings from his position at the center of the living room. 

In under a minute, he’s already spotted two potential escape routes…or break in opportunities depending on who you are. 

“Oh please, don’t act like you haven’t scanned this place from top to bottom multiple times before.”

“I haven’t.” He turns around to look at her and doesn’t miss the hint of disappointment, “at least not from the inside,” he adds with a smirk and it seems to thaw the tension just a bit.

He can feel the weight of her exhale from several feet away, but before he can say anything, Karen steps into his space and glances at the flowers again. 

“Thank you for the tulips. I should put them in water.”

For a moment, he forgets what she’s talking about but the way her expression softens, cornflower blue eyes becoming even more prominent, it anchors him somehow and he extends the vibrant bouquet towards her. 

“No need to put them on the window sill this time.” 

It’s meant to be in jest or even somehow comforting but something heavy passes between them. The past just doesn’t seem to want to stay hidden. 

All their previous encounters flash on a seemingly endless loop, until Karen breaks eye contact and mumbles something about locating a vase.

He listens to her move around the kitchen for a few moments, until she calls to him.

“You want a beer or something?” 

He can already hear her moving to the fridge, as he turns back to assess the safety of the living room window latches.

He almost wants to ask if she’s got any tea – he’s been drinking a cup of chamomile here and there because a guy in group told him it helps calm the nerves. But he figures there’s only so much surprise even a badass lady like Karen can handle.

He still can’t have the beer though. 

No drinking on the job. 

As of late, no drinking period, but especially not when he plans to infiltrate and defunct a budding faction of the revived Mexican cartel later tonight. In Red’s absence, someone has to do the job…

He almost tells her exactly that, but then checks himself. No need to get his head bitten off before the evening even starts. 

“No on the booze but ya got any coffee?”

“Oh that’s right, I forgot. All the coffee this place pumps out and all that...”

It’s a reference to something so minor, so insignificant but it catapults him right back to that moment, that diner. 

The purgatory he was in for months, not knowing what really happened to his family. 

The memory nearly pulls him under, but the sound of running water knocks him back into the present.

Frank shakes it off and takes the opportunity to enter the small kitchen.

His eyes immediately land on the all too accessible knife rack and he frowns.

Has this woman learned nothing?

“Hey, how’s that .380 treating ya? Give it a good clean every once in a while, yeah?”

It’s clearly the wrong thing to say, because Karen stiffens visibly, and says nothing. 

The tension in her shoulders doesn’t abate, even when she turns and leans on the counter to face him.

He takes the opportunity to study her more closely in the bright kitchen light. She looks pretty much the same, but he’s never seen her in such relaxed attire before, at home, with her hair pulled up and a face free of make-up. 

Fuck if that doesn’t do something to him. 

He can’t quite articulate the effect. It feels like he’s always chasing it on the periphery of his mind when he’s around her. 

He knows though exactly what the solemn expression on her face means. He intends to ask her about it, but is interrupted by the intercom.

It’s his turn to stiffen, senses on high alert, which Karen picks up on instantly.

“Relax, it’s just dinner,” she explains on her way to the hallway, “and lucky for you, I ordered extra.”

Frank isn’t sure what to say then. Luckily the coffee maker beeps and he helps himself to a cup; then pops open the bottle of beer Karen got for herself and carries both into the living room.

The domesticity of it all, the easy way they fall into each other’s orbit, doesn’t elude him but he also doesn’t know what the hell to do about it, so instead he decides to roll with it. 

After all, it’s just one evening, right? 

xxx

Except, it isn’t. 

One evening turns into two, turns into three, turns into four, until Frank finds himself spending every Tuesday after group at Karen’s place.

At first, it’s just take out and beers (coffee or tea for him) but once Karen discovers his love of cooking, it becomes a production.

And Frank thinks nothing of it, because at some point, he admits to himself that he’s having fun, even looking forward to their time together, which is exactly what he promised he would do. 

He may not have his family anymore, but he has a few people he would consider friends and there’s nothing wrong with spending time with one of them. 

The fact that classifying his relationship with Karen as ‘friends’ leaves a bitter taste in his mouth doesn’t scare Frank as much as it should. 

Even when he realizes that he plans his nightly activities around his time with her…

She’s not stupid of course – he notices how her eyes sweep worriedly over the myriad of bruises that always litter his face but as long as he doesn’t come over smelling of gunpowder and blood, she says nothing. 

A part of it probably has to do with Red being presumed dead in that building explosion months ago. Without him, someone needs to keep the neighborhood safe, and Frank reasons that Karen knows he’s the best positioned to do so. 

Frank Castle might be dead, but The Punisher lives on, and though they don’t talk about it, he thinks Karen understands why every once in a while, when the opportunity presents itself and the filth of Hell’s Kitchen rears its ugly head again, he has to act. 

It’s a mutual understanding that she’s somehow protected from it all just by virtue of the separation. 

In retrospect, it’s fucking stupid of him to assume they are in agreement over anything. 

Eventually his two lives were bound to collide…and yet, what Frank reflects on most is how he was ever dumb enough to think he and Karen were just friends. 

xxx

It happens like this. 

He gets jumped by two thugs on his way over to Karen’s one night.

His reusable grocery bags are used as a weapon to smack one of the morons across the face. He then channels his rage at seeing the contents of a coconut curry he planned on making spill onto the sidewalk into beating the idiot to a bloody pulp. 

He drops like the insignificant fly that he is but his partner is a bit smarter because he tackles Frank from behind. 

Before passing out, Frank feels the prick of a needle in the back of his neck and thinks about how pissed Karen will be when he doesn’t show up to her place on time.

When he comes to, he’s in what looks to be a basement of an average suburban home, and though he’s tied to a chair, he can already tell these guys are amateurs. 

He’s bound by electric tape and they didn’t even strip him. Even so, he can taste blood in his mouth and his entire right side is screaming. 

They must’ve tossed him around whatever crap getaway car they transported him in, divesting him of all his weapons and more importantly his phone. 

So at least they’re not complete idiots, but he still doesn’t know who they are.

He doesn’t have to wait long to find out as he hears footsteps descending the creaky stairwell. 

There are two of them again – different second guy this time, but the one who stuck him with the tranquilizer leads the way. 

In the dim lighting of the basement, Frank squints to get a better look at the guy and registers two things. 

One – the thug looks like a carbon copy of one of the right-hand men for the Mexican cartel Frank took down a couple months ago and two – the guy is tossing Frank’s flip phone up and down in his hand with a predatory look on his ugly mug.

The first observation takes care of who they are, but the second makes Frank’s blood spike a little. 

Okay, a lot. 

Especially when the prick opens his mouth.

”So who is this Page that keeps blowing up your phone? Sounded worried when I picked up. She your girlfriend?”

Frank says nothing but decides then and there that he’ll take this one apart slowly…and painfully. 

“No matter. Either way, I’m sure my boys will have fun with her. Same fun you had with my brother.”

“Highly unlikely.” Frank spits back, mostly to bait the fucker into coming within striking distance.

“Oh ya?” his entire demeanor changes and Frank can see the urge to exhibit dominance, dole out revenge in the prick's face. 

He’s seen something akin to that for months in his own reflection, still does on occasion. But this douche lacks the one thing Frank has in spades.

Patience…

…and cunning. 

Frank goads him once more with a drawn-out description of how his beloved brother begged for his life and it’s enough for the goon to come close enough for Frank to charge at him. 

He rips his lackluster binds with brute strength and throws the chair at the first idiot, leaving him disoriented enough for Frank to lunge at the second guy.

By no means, is it an easy fight. Especially, when he discovers six more men upstairs and three outside keeping watch. Eventually, he’s able to put all of them down and emerge from the house in one piece.

Fresh cuts and bruises line most of his upper body and there’s definitely a flesh wound from a bullet graze along his right thigh, but he doesn’t stop to take stock of his injuries or search the house for anything useful. 

Instead his only thought is getting back to Hell’s Kitchen, back to Karen, before she does something stupid like goes searching for him herself.

xxx 

By the time he makes it back into the city, it feels like every muscle in his body is protesting. 

Even his face hurts. 

It’s not an unfamiliar feeling but this time there’s tension in his bones rather than adrenaline, because he knows the real showdown of the night is yet to come.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting but the unlocked door and the apartment submerged in darkness makes his heart jump into his throat. 

He’s borderline frantic when he spots the familiar head of blond hair peeking over the back of the couch.

He steps into the living room, his eyes adjusting to the darkness quickly enough to spot a half empty bottle of wine on the coffee table and no signs of injury on her person.

Then, despite how physically fatigued he is, his hands automatically clench into fists.

“Why the hell is your front door unlocked?” 

She turns only her eyes towards him, and takes a leisurely sip of wine before answering. 

“I locked and bolted it right around the time I called your phone and was threatened by some guy who was boasting about having captured The Punisher. I even turned off all the lights, like you told me before, and got my trusty 0.380 out.”

She pats the gun Frank didn’t even notice was next to her right thigh. 

“But after a while, I figured there was no use in hiding in fear. If they were going to come for me, might as well enjoy my last few hours with a nice glass of red.” 

He’s not even sure how to respond to that – to the complacency in her tone at possibly being kidnapped and tortured tonight – so he does the only thing that comes naturally. 

He yells.

“What’s the matter with you, Page? You got a death wish or somethin’?”

Before he knows what’s happening, Karen is standing at her full height right in front of him, wine glass abandoned in favor of the gun. 

The fact that he feels some thrill at the sight should be the strongest indication that there’s something very, very wrong with him and he should get the hell out. 

But his feet won’t move. 

In fact, he draws even closer. 

“Are you fucking kidding me with that, Frank? Asking me if _I_ have a death wish?” 

Now that she spits his words back at him, he recognizes their incredulity, but the more pressing matter is the frustration in her eyes. 

He needs to understand what he just walked in on.

“Yeah, I do. I’m not the one who unlocks my front door when I get threatened.” 

“No, you’re not,” she scoffs, “you’re just the guy who knocks doors _down_ looking for a gun fight.” 

The accusation stings but it’s not unfounded, and Frank has nothing to say. 

Karen, however, seems to have plenty. 

“Jesus Christ, Frank. I thought you were done with that shit.” 

His head snaps up from where he was gazing at the floor, “done with what, Karen? I think I’ve been pretty clear from the beginning about who I am and what I do.”

“Oh, so the past few months, you coming over here, spending time with me, it meant – “

Her voice cuts off then and Frank nearly reaches for her, but his injuries stop him. He feels this shortcoming acutely. 

The collision of his two lives is more apparent now than ever and the realization that he’s hurting Karen - _again_ \- pains him more than any physical injury he can sustain.

“Meant what?”

“Nothing,” Karen shakes her head, muttering something about her unfortunate penchant for getting involved with men who have no problem risking their lives on a regular basis. She attempts to move past him, but he stops her with two fingers against her wrist. 

She looks at him from behind a curtain of golden hair, the only bright spot in the room.

Frank feels his throat run dry at the sadness and grief in her eyes, laid out bare for him to see. It might be the first time he truly absorbs how hard Red’s presumed death has hit her. He knows from their minimal conversations about it that she and Foggy both aren’t completely convinced he’s dead, considering the lack of a body. 

They buried him anyway and fuck if it’s not the most ironic thing that this woman who is so full of life seems to get involved with men who seem to not give a shit about theirs.

But, he’s not Red, and he won’t apologize for who he is. Not anymore. Not ever.

“I never lied to you, I could never lie to you and that’s what -…”

He doesn’t have a chance to finish his thought. To be honest, the second he sees how she recoils at his words, he’s not really sure he wants to speak again, and it seems like Karen doesn’t care to see it through.

“Oh bullshit, Frank. I. Call. Bullshit.” 

Grief is replaced with fire and she jabs a finger into his chest. He winces at the pressure she accidentally administers to a blossoming bruise. 

“I’ve seen you how relaxed you are here. I’ve watched you actually _smile_ while you’re cooking in my kitchen, or talking or just sitting here on the couch, nursing a tenth cup of coffee. I see it, Frank, and I see _you,_ don’t you get it?”

He does get it. 

It’s at the tip of his tongue – to confirm her words, but also to correct her. 

It’s not the apartment, or the cooking, it’s _her._ She’s the reason why he’s been smiling and why he feels so much more at ease lately.

She’s why he’s able to think about Maria, Lisa, and Frank Jr. without suffocating every time. 

She’s the only reason he would ever contemplate giving up the Punisher persona…

It would be too easy to say all of that though and equally as dangerous; and maybe he’s just not ready. 

(or maybe he’s just a goddamn pussy)

Either way, Frank says nothing, and he can sense the exact moment that Karen gives up. Her shoulders sag noticeably as she takes a few steps away from him to put the 0.380 into her purse. 

“You being here, does that mean no one is coming here tonight?”

It’s the first time in many minutes that he remembers why his body is aching so profoundly and he nods instinctively. 

No one will be coming for her now, at least not tonight, or ever if he has anything to do about it. 

“Good. Then you can go.” 

Just because he expects it, doesn’t mean it hurts any less to hear her dismissal. 

But short of admitting his fears and telling her all the ways he’s not like Red, and he doesn’t plan on dying any time soon – which is something they both know he cannot control if he continues with this charade, there’s not much Frank can do now. 

So, he makes his way to the door, slowly enough to hear her bathroom door shut and the shower turn on.

He stands quietly in her doorway, telling himself he’s doing it as a final check to make sure no one nefarious is lurking around. 

But really, it’s entirely selfish as he soaks up the last few moments of peace before shutting the door behind him.

Knowing he won’t be back here for a while…if ever. 

He spends the rest of the night perched on the rooftop of the building across the street from hers. 

If Karen notices him when she goes to shut the curtains in her bedroom, she gives no indication.


End file.
